


"If I die, I'm going to haunt your ass."

by thescienceofsherlolly



Series: Sherlollicious [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case in Brighton, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gambling, Greg is late, Greg ships it, Sherlolly go swimming, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 08:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11054787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescienceofsherlolly/pseuds/thescienceofsherlolly
Summary: When their undercover case goes horribly wrong, Sherlock and Molly find themselves trapped at the end of Brighton pier.





	"If I die, I'm going to haunt your ass."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waiting-to-be-distributed](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=waiting-to-be-distributed).



> @waiting-to-be-distributed over on tumblr requested number 11 from a list of prompts. hope you like it :)

Molly twirled in front of the mirror, placing her hands on her hips as she analysed the eye-wateringly short mini dress worn by her character, Veronica Smith, a vivacious and feisty businesswoman. She was to play the part of her partner’s ‘lady luck’ in the underground gambling world in Brighton and Molly was already beginning to have reservations; she’d never been involved in such a large-scale case before, let alone gone undercover with Sherlock Holmes.

The man himself knocked on the bathroom door of their hotel suite, his concerned voice travelling through the slight crack she’d left, “are you alright, Molly? The suspects will be meeting soon.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, fanning herself in an effort to calm down, “just a little nervous.”

“Good. It’s wise to be wary,” he replied, a little distractedly, “these are dangerous men but we’re professionals. We’ll be fine.”

Molly nodded to herself, giving herself one more look over in the mirror and taking a deep breath. She teetered on her enormously tall heels into the lounge to find Sherlock texting rapidly on his phone. He’d dressed in his white shirt and dark jeans, slicked his hair back and dumped an entire bottle of aftershave over himself if the overwhelming scent was anything to go by. His cover, Emmett Smith, was cocky, confident and a bit of a show off, perfectly at home in the gambling circuit. She recalled Mycroft’s comment about his brother hardly having to act at all resulting in a dirty look from his younger brother.

Sherlock had spent most of their week in the seaside town cosying up to his targets, sucking up to and brown-nosing drug dealers and illegal gamblers. Eventually he’d been invited to the elite circle of the most dangerous and connected of the town’s criminals. Molly was invited, too, on the condition she ‘looked good’ and ‘kept her mouth shut’ which was more than fine with her.

They approached their destination, Molly tugging awkwardly on the bottom of her dress despite Sherlock’s assurances she looked fine. His arm wound its way around her shoulder as they reached the door, the bouncer nodding them through; he squeezed her shoulder supportively. Two hours later, everything seemed to be going according to plan – he had names and locations, evidence recorded secretively on a secure device. Molly played the part of the airheaded lady luck to the letter, clapping hysterically and draping herself all over him whenever he won a hand.

Soon, Sherlock became accustomed to the case and began to enjoy the attention Molly showered him with, craving her touches and sultry kisses. He started to lose track of his playing, winning as often as he could. The men sat around the table flew into a rage, drawing weapons and accusing the detective of cheating. Shielding Molly, he backed them towards the door, pointing his own gun at the offenders; they hurried out into the alleyway, finding it empty.

“Where’s Greg?” Molly panted, adrenaline pumping through her body. She still held tightly to Sherlock’s hand, “he- he said he’s be here. He’s late.”

Sherlock looked around, spotting the long pier before them. The shouts grew louder behind them and he nodded towards their goal, “the pier.”

Molly kicked off her heels and gathered them in one hand as Sherlock tugged her along towards the pier, a small group of angry felons following behind them; thankfully, they weren’t as fit as the detectives. The ran until they reached the end of the pier, peering over the side at the stillness of the freezing water. When Sherlock began to climb over the railings, Molly gasped in shock.

“You can’t be serious!”

“I’m buying some time,” he hissed back, watching the distance; their pursuers were gaining on them, brandishing knives and swearing. Sherlock turned back to Molly, “they’ll be here soon. We need to go.”

“I-I…” Molly glanced over the side, swallowing at the velvety smooth surface of her possible grave, “I can’t swim.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he said sympathetically, assisting her to clamber over the side. He never let go of her hand, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“If I die I’m going to haunt your ass…” she breathed frantically, bringing her free hand up to hold her nose. Sherlock chuckled.

“How exactly is that a problem?”

Molly focused on his dazzling smile as she closed her eyes and let go of the railing, plunging into the icy cold water of the sea. She pushed and kicked against the water, surfacing and spluttering, struggling to stay above water. Blinking water out of her eyes, she panicked when she found herself alone; she was just about to begin hysterically calling out Sherlock’s name when he reappeared beside her, leading her towards the shore where a line of blue and red lights awaited them. Molly had never felt so relieved in her life.

“That was a little dramatic,” Greg Lestrade commented when the heroes of the hour traipsed through the sand towards him, “sorry I was late. You seemed to handle yourselves pretty well, though.”

“Did you get them?” Sherlock demanded, reaching into the ambulance and removing an orange blanket and wrapping Molly up in the soft article.

“Yeah. We’re going through the CCTV now. Should be enough to put them away,” the DI watched as Sherlock pulled Molly close, rubbing her arms furiously as she shivered beneath her blanket. He cleared his throat, “err, I’ll take your statements in the morning. Can I give you a lift back to the hotel?”

“We’ll take a cab. Thank you, Greg.”

Greg nodded, watching as the pair headed towards the town, arms around each other; Sherlock leaned close to Molly, his lips pressed into her hair as she snuggled closer to him. The DI sighed, murmuring to no one in particular, “if that doesn’t do it, nothing will.”


End file.
